


Sticks And Stones (And Other Things)

by ClaraRabit



Series: Trauma Verse [3]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Extreme Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Mutilation, Vic gets the help he needs and deserves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-10-07 09:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10357680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraRabit/pseuds/ClaraRabit
Summary: Wading through the mind of a man that's been through at least three wars and has a track record for murder? Well, Xavier has never been one to back down from a challenge.A fix-it fic for Vic's entire life. He's been through so much and I love him.





	1. Memory One

    To Xavier, it looked like a nightmarish forest. The snow on the ground was black with ash and soaked with blood so much that it squished under his feet like marshland ground. Despite the disgustingly ruined environment, the thorny trees reached past the blackened clouds in the sky as though the gore and pollution were merely nourishment.

   Embers drifted through the air like falling flower petals to signal a blaze despite the bitter cold of the air. No life seemed to exist here other than the hellish flora that served to wrap your ankles and drag you down if you stood still too long.

   These disturbing sights were not what he was here for, however, and he evaded then as best he could. They were only products of a much bigger list of problems, after all. It was far too easy to find a thicker tangle of the withered vines that wrapped the other plants. He knelt at it, ignoring the red fluid that soaked his clothes and the sharp spikes on the plants hidden beneath the snow poking dangerously at his skin, and pried the vines off of the first object he was here to locate.

   The plants did not immediately lessen their grip, but they gave eventually. What lie underneath was an old table that's better days seemed few.

   Undeterred, the man braced himself and gripped the table.

 

   The next moment, he was staring from the bottom of a flight of steps and towards a door. There was a rather loud argument on the other side of it that seemed to grow in volume until it abruptly ended. The only sound was of snow crunching, light footsteps retreating from the building until they could no longer be heard. There was only a moment between the steps fading into the distance completely and the wooden door creaking open. A large man stepped through, snow falling from his coat and hair as he kicked off his shoes.

   Once the towering and rather intimidating man had rid himself off his outer clothes, leaving him in what looked like a cotton tunic and a pair of thicker fabric pants, he glanced over to where Xavier was standing.

   It took a moment for him to realize the man's cold gaze was not leveled at him, but rather a small boy in front of him. The light-haired child looked no older than five, but was in clothes similar to what the man was wearing.

   “ _ Go to bed, boy _ .” The man nearly seemed to growl, and the young boy nodded frantically before rushing up the stairs.

   Xavier followed him up, knowing that the child was the grounding piece of the memory, and watched the boy curl into his blankets. From downstairs, he heard the man start to sob.


	2. Memory Two

   Being pulled back to the forest was like being dragged through a current, not so much painful but forceful.

   It took a much longer while to locate the next memory, this one easy to miss as the vines formed a cover that made it look more like a small hill. These vines were as thorned as the trees, though slightly brittle. This was a long forgotten memory, then. But no less painful for its age.

   Under the layers of weaving branches lay a collection of old bottles. Each gave off the sour smell of rotting beer, more an indicator that this would not be a pleasant experience than the age of it. Nevertheless, he reached a hand out.

   The sun was long past set. The blonde boy, who now appeared a bit older, had already gone to bed. The peaceful quiet of midnight was started by the sound of the door downstairs slamming, however. A shout startled the young boy awake and he was very clearly terrified.

   “Get down here, you little shit!” The man yelled, the sound of a bottle breaking heard shortly after. The child carefully descended the steps and was grabbed by the front of his shirt the moment he reached the bottom.

   “Didn’ I tell you to clean the damn house before I got back?” He yelled, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. He shook the boy hard when there was no reply. “ _ Didn’ I?! _ ”

  The child shook his head, trembling. This was obviously the wrong answer, as he was thrown back onto the steps. Charles gripped the railing hard enough to turn his knuckles white as the man started hitting the boy. He knew he could do nothing to help, as this was just a memory, but rage bubbled up in his gut at every cry the child gave.

   After a while, the boy was sent back upstairs on shaking legs. Only about halfway to the bed, the child fell to the ground and the professor found himself pulled back to the forest.


	3. Memory Three

   The distance between the memories increased with each one he uncovered. The vines began to look more alive and had more thorns each time, though the amount of tangles holding the memories in place varied.

   It seemed that a pattern was forming until he came across a small, out-of-the-way tangle of vines. They lacked the thorns that had become usual, and even appeared to have a few soft leaves.

   Beneath the thin branches was a little cloth ball. The blue color of it had faded, but it seemed in fine condition other than that. The snow around it looked as white and clean as if it were freshly fallen.

   As he was pulled into the memory, he could tell it was warmer. The air still had a chill to it, but it was less than before. To his left, a horse huffed, startling him out of his thoughts. The light-haired boy rounded the corner of a wooden wall with a heavy bucket of feed in his arms. He looked older, and didn't seem to have much trouble carrying the container.

   His eyes were cold now, though. And the horses backed away from him when he came near. One of the larger ones stomped at him when he came by, but quickly backed down when the boy bared his remarkably sharp teeth.

   Halfway through feeding the animals, a little blue ball rolled into the stables and collided lightly with his foot. He picked it up and walked to the doorway it came through with the full intent to simply toss it back into the yard and get back to work. A much smaller boy ran into him, though, and fell backwards.

   The blonde boy caught his wrist and stopped the other child from hitting the ground.

   “Thanks …” the younger boy said quietly, getting his feet back beneath him and fixing his sleeve once his wrist was released. He looked a bit better dressed than the older of the two, but seemed a bit scrawnier. “You're the handyman’s son, right? What was your name again?”

   He received no reply, but the other _did_ hand him the cloth ball.

   The brown-haired boy took it carefully, not trying not to meet the empty look he was getting. “Thanks.”

   The older boy turned and went back to his chore to signal that he wasn't going to be part of a conversation. The boy with the ball didn't leave, though.

   “Do you want some candy?” he asked after a bit of silence. There was once again no reply, but he took a small piece of fudge out of his pocket anyway. He held it out a bit, like he was going to give the paper-wrapped treat either way.

   When it became clear that the younger boy wasn't going to leave, the older boy sighed and put down the bucket. He took the fudge before picking the feed bucket back up and filling the last of the troughs, if only to be left alone.

   That seemed to satisfy the shorter child, and he turned to leave with the ball held safely in his arms.

   “Victor.” The boy taking care of the horses mumbled just as the other was about to leave. “My name. It's Victor.”

   There was a pause, and for a second he thought he'd said something stupid, but the boy in the doorway grinned.

   “I'm James, but you can call me Jimmy.” He said, and Victor looked down so that the smile wouldn't become infectious. A woman's voice called James away just as he was going to say something, so the interaction ended there.

   Victor tossed the state of fudge into his mouth before he left the stables as well, but made a slightly grossed-out face.

   “Ugh, it's bitter …” he mumbled to himself as he stuffed the paper into his pocket.

\---

[I took a bit of inspiration for this chaper from a fic I read a while ago and forgot the name of. I'll look for it tomorrow and add credit here when I find it, cause that was a good fic.

Also, fun fact about cats: They can't taste sweet. Hehehe]


	4. Memory Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning! There be feels and also some kinda gory stuff ahead!  
> Please proceed with caution if content such as severe child abuse and self mutilation are sensation topics for you.

  Things seemed to get a bit better from there, both in the memories and the dreamscape. The snow was a bit cleaner and the embers floating through the air decreased in number. There were more toys lying around, each linking to a memory of slowly growing friendship.

   The calm didn't last for long, though, as one memory was protected by vicious vines that's thorns were nearly soaked in blood.

   The object beneath the gory plantlife was a small, skeletal hand. The bones of the wrist had scratches on them like the marks of teeth, and many were broken. The professor dreaded what he was likely about to see.

 

   There was the slamming of a door and a few crashing sounds before light flooded both his vision and the dusty basement he was in now. The younger version of Victor that he'd gotten used to seeing was crumpled at the bottom of the wooden stairs.

   His father followed him down, and Victor turned to stare him down. He looked much more like the professor knew him. Amber eyes and sharp teeth with nothing but defiance and rage driving him. 

   There was a bit of fear when the much larger man kicked him back down and threw him to the other end of the room. The boy put up enough of a fight to leave a few long scratches on his attacker's face, but not much more than that. After a struggle, there was the clank of metal and the creak of it being bent, and once the larger man stepped back Xavier saw that he'd handcuffed Victor to a thin metal pole.

   The memory jumped around quite a bit for the next few minutes, either due to the instability of this part of the mind or due to the holes in this period of time. It was hard to stay conscious while periodically being savagely beaten and slowly starving on top of that.

   The abuse went on for what felt like eternity, but was likely only about a year's time, pointed teeth collecting on the ground and blood staining the stone floor black. Most of the time, the boy didn't have the will nor the strength to lift his head.

   A shuffle through the early-spring snow outside brought the hazy scraps of memory to a painfully lucid halt. The oddly strong smell of soap and pine and sweet bread seemed to almost visibly leak through a crack in the ceiling of the dark and near silent cellar.

   Victor seemed suddenly desperate, struggling to his knees and nearly jumping in the direction of the smell. A sharp clang of the now-rusted chains keeping him in place made him wince and turn around.

   His wrist was beading badly, and at some points you could see the muscle and bone. it was a horrifying injury, and this younger version of Victor looked to be holding back tears at just the sight of it. A moment passed before the boy ground his teeth and pulled as hard as he could against the chain.

   He stilled only when there was a sickening pop of a joint disconnecting, and even then only to catch his breath. He tried breaking the bones, and finally resorted to gnawing at the remaining joints. If the professor could look away, he would, but even with blood pooling on the floor and tears streaming down the child’s face he continued trying to free himself.

   A final, disgusting crack sent him onto his back and finally it felt like there was air in the room again. Xavier hadn't realized he had been holding his breath, but he let it out and tried to remember how to breath as Victor rolled onto his side and held his arm as though enough pressure would stop the pain.

 

   It took Charles a moment to realize that he was back in the forest. The bloodied sky seemed to glow with the ember snow that he didn't realize was suddenly comforting to him. He leaned against a tree and absently inspected the snow while he waited for his heart to stop aching.

 A vine wrapping loosely around his ankle prompted him to continue on, so with a grim sigh he moved on to find the next memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Couldn't keep it mild forever.  
>  Also, fun fact: If you comment any questions you have about the fic, I'll answer them in the next chapter notes!)


	5. Memory Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning! There be feels and also some kinda gory stuff ahead!  
> Please proceed with caution if content such as severe child abuse and self mutilation are sensative topics for you.

  Things seemed to get a bit better from there, both in the memories and the dreamscape. The snow was a bit cleaner and the embers floating through the air decreased in number. There were more toys lying around, each linking to a memory of slowly growing friendship.

   The calm didn't last for long, though, as one memory was protected by vicious vines that's thorns were nearly soaked in blood.

   The object beneath the gory plantlife was a small, skeletal hand. The bones of the wrist had scratches on them like the marks of teeth, and many were broken. The professor dreaded what he was likely about to see.

 

   There was the slamming of a door and a few crashing sounds before light flooded both his vision and the dusty basement he was in now. The younger version of Victor that he'd gotten used to seeing was crumpled at the bottom of the wooden stairs.

   His father followed him down, and Victor turned to stare him down. He looked much more like the professor knew him. Amber eyes and sharp teeth with nothing but defiance and rage driving him. 

   There was a bit of fear when the much larger man kicked him back down and threw him to the other end of the room. The boy put up enough of a fight to leave a few long scratches on his attacker's face, but not much more than that. After a struggle, there was the clank of metal and the creak of it being bent, and once the larger man stepped back Xavier saw that he'd handcuffed Victor to a thin metal pole.

   The memory jumped around quite a bit for the next few minutes, either due to the instability of this part of the mind or due to the holes in this period of time. It was hard to stay conscious while periodically being savagely beaten and slowly starving on top of that.

   The abuse went on for what felt like eternity, but was likely only about a year's time, pointed teeth collecting on the ground and blood staining the stone floor black. Most of the time, the boy didn't have the will nor the strength to lift his head.

   A shuffle through the early-spring snow outside brought the hazy scraps of memory to a painfully lucid halt. The oddly strong smell of soap and pine and sweet bread seemed to almost visibly leak through a crack in the ceiling of the dark and near silent cellar.

   Victor seemed suddenly desperate, struggling to his knees and nearly jumping in the direction of the smell. A sharp clang of the now-rusted chains keeping him in place made him wince and turn around.

   His wrist was beading badly, and at some points you could see the muscle and bone. it was a horrifying injury, and this younger version of Victor looked to be holding back tears at just the sight of it. A moment passed before the boy ground his teeth and pulled as hard as he could against the chain.

   He stilled only when there was a sickening pop of a joint disconnecting, and even then only to catch his breath. He tried breaking the bones, and finally resorted to gnawing at the remaining joints. If the professor could look away, he would, but even with blood pooling on the floor and tears streaming down the child’s face he continued trying to free himself.

   A final, disgusting crack sent him onto his back and finally it felt like there was air in the room again. Xavier hadn't realized he had been holding his breath, but he let it out and tried to remember how to breath as Victor rolled onto his side and held his arm as though enough pressure would stop the pain.

 

   It took Charles a moment to realize that he was back in the forest. The bloodied sky seemed to glow with the ember snow that he didn't realize was suddenly comforting to him. He leaned against a tree and absently inspected the snow while he waited for his heart to stop aching.

 A vine wrapping loosely around his ankle prompted him to continue on, so with a grim sigh he moved on to find the next memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Couldn't keep it mild forever.  
> Also, fun fact: If you comment any questions you have about the fic, I'll answer them in the next chapter notes!)


	6. Memory Six

   For a while, the world seemed grey, as though it had grown tired and unfeeling. The memories were a monotony of pain and empty interaction with the son of his father's employer. Some of the foliage was less brittle and crumbling, while others gave off a foul rotting smell.

   The boy’s father found restraint unnecessary now and, unfortunately, he had a feeling it could get worse.

   He came across a memory that was covered with an odd mix of lively green vines and brittle, dangerous ones. As though it couldn't decide what emotions to attach to it.

   Under the tangle was a gun. It looked old and withered, but no less dangerous. With a deep breath, he reached for it.

 

   He stood at the top of a grand staircase, overlooking a large entry hall. It would've been a lovely room, if there wasn't such a bloodbath in the middle of it. He could smell the blood like the air was made of it. It was nauseating, but Victor didn't seem to mind it. He was too focused on his friend, who had rushed his father.

   The smell in the air was suddenly sharper, more familiar, and he knew what had happened. The two by the door sank to the floor a bit and he saw the man’s mouth move but couldn't make the words out himself. It was obvious the boy he was shadowing had, though, because it echoed painfully in the air barely a moment later in a way that he knew hadn't really happened.

   When the younger boy that he had spent so long being friends with ran from the house, he followed suit, pausing only to look down in disgust at the lady of the house. She whispered his name, and Charles recognized it as the voice from beyond the door in the memory that started all of this.

   The voice of the woman who had left him. Who had abandoned him to the pain and suffering of the life he had lived. Who had taken his childhood and given it to someone else, gifted the love he'd been starved for to his brother.

   The child knelt down and pushed her hair back, cupping her cheek and letting her hold onto him as though he were her last hope.

   And he slit her throat.


End file.
